


Double Bed

by Paian



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Angst, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Episode Related, Episode: s07e18 Heroes, First Time, Frottage, Funeral, Graphic Sex, Hand Job, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Morning After, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Season/Series 07, Sex, Sex Club, Sexual Tension, Television Watching, Wet Dream, sex instruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-20
Updated: 2005-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to come to grips with his sexuality and his feelings for Daniel, Jack visits a sex retreat. Then he comes home and faces Daniel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Bed

Jack hadn't had a wet dream since he was a kid.

He woke up groaning. It turned to swearing when he felt the wetness. He couldn't remember what the dream was about. Too bad. Must've been a scorcher.

He grumped over onto the dry side of the bed and went back to sleep.

The next week, it happened again. He moved out of the wet spot and decided a double bed wasn't a waste of space after all. Then he wondered why he always slept on the same side of the damn thing.

Then he decided he wasn't jerking off enough.

That Saturday night he dug out a few favorite old videos. Interest had waned a while ago, hadn't added anything new in even longer, but what the hell. Oldies but goodies.

He popped one into the bedroom VCR. After five minutes, he thought, _I can't believe I ever got off on this stuff_. He clicked the tube off and just lay back to enjoy the feel of his own hand.

Out of nowhere, right before he shot, came the thought of Daniel close against him, and he said his name -- a surprised question, almost like _what are_ you _doing here?_ \-- and he came so hard he arched off the bed and tasted come on his own lips.

It stunned him. He lay there poleaxed by the orgasm and blindsided by the jolt of recognition. When the afterglow warmed over him, all he could think about was how nice it would be if Daniel _were_ here -- sprawled limp and sleepy and sated against his side, or even a few feet away in a sleeping bag ...

He pushed under the covers and went to sleep listing types of aircraft in his head.

A few nights later, he woke up with a hard-on, and he touched himself and thought about Daniel, murmured Daniel's name, and shot so hard his vision exploded in blue and white.

Great. He was fucked. Had the hots for the one person he couldn't live without. The one person he did not want to alienate again. He loved all three of them; he'd die before he'd lose any of them; but if Daniel died again, if Daniel ever died for real and for good, he'd blow his brains out. They'd only just gotten him _back_. And now it turned out he wanted to --

Get over it. Get laid, maybe; way too long since he did that, even if the prospect of the kind of casual he used to do turned his stomach now. Go up to the cabin, maybe, stare at the lake for a while, get his head back on straight. Team was on stand-down right now. Whole week. That ought to be enough.

He went and stared at the lake. Didn't help. He stopped in some roadside places on the way back down, had a look around, let some women approach him, tried and failed to get interested. Didn't help. Got a decent hotel room, called an upscale escort service, had a beautiful woman over for drinks; let her charm him, let her strip for him, got nice and hard, and pulled her hand off five seconds after she touched his dick. Didn't help.

So he went to a place he knew about, a resort just outside another city, where everybody went by first names and paid in cash and the first names were fake, where the arrangements were made by phone in advance and nobody saw anybody else come or go, where men like him -- men under intense pressures of command, men who'd been tortured in the line of duty, men who had appetites that would end their careers, and he fit the bill on all three -- went to get whatever they needed to keep going. A Fantasy Island of bondage, recapitulated torture, sexual fetishes, violence, loss of control. A place where mild, unshockable, nondescript people came and asked you what you needed, and then made it happen.

He looked at the man who'd come to his room, ex-Marine down to the walk and the way his shoes were tied, and said, "I need a guy to give me a hand job. That's all."

With no expression, the ex-Marine said, "Will I do?"

"Sure," Jack said. He shoved his pants and briefs down and sat on the bed with his back against the headboard.

He didn't object when the guy stripped down without being told. He didn't object when the guy stroked himself hard. He didn't object when the guy sat down on the bed, reached for his hand, and put it on his cock. He checked it out, gave it a good feel. Felt OK. Felt like a hard cock. He almost shrugged.

When the guy touched him, he got hard. When the guy covered his hand, working it on his own cock while he worked Jack's, Jack's balls twinged and his dick contracted and his ass clenched. "Stop," he said. The guy stopped. "Hands off," he said, and the guy took his hands off. "You're done," he said. He didn't pack himself up. He'd finish himself, then go.

The guy got dressed without protest, zipping and buckling over the substantial boner, and turned to leave.

Jack said, "No. Wait." He paused for a second, then said, "I have some questions." He got up, shoving his own erection back into his pants at an angle he could live with, then sat down again and gestured at the chair by the well-equipped business desk. The ex-Marine sat down. "If I asked you to fuck me," Jack said, "what would you do? In detail."

In a straightforward, almost toneless military report, the ex-Marine told him. Foreplay, lube, preparation, position. Alternative positions. How he'd move, in a virgin ass. Exactly how he'd make sure that Jack got off and came back for more. Listening to it kept Jack hard, which would have told him something if he hadn't already known it, hadn't known it most of his life. When the report concluded, Jack said, "Good enough. That's it now."

For the first time, then, the guy said something Jack hadn't prompted for; it was surprising but not unwelcome, like when he put Jack's hand on his cock. "If it's someone who matters to you, there's a lot to be said for offering up your virginity. But if I were you, I'd consider popping that cherry both ways before I fucked around with someone who mattered that much."

Jack should have been irritated. He was intrigued. He let his face show it.

The ex-Marine said, "If you were just curious, you'd have let me bring you off. You're saving it for someone, or one of the things you found out here today was that you like a man's hand on you but if it's not his you don't want to give it up. If you thought the other guy had any experience, you wouldn't have asked me to describe how to fuck you, you'd have asked me how to make it good for the guy fucking you."

He stopped there.

After a long moment, Jack said, "OK. So how do I do that?"

The guy told him. Jack pushed down the king-size bed and lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, after two adjustments failed to ease the doubled ache in his dick. When he finished, Jack said, "Anything else?"

"You should at least see how it's done. If you've seen it at all, it was in bullshit fantasy porn vids or it was straight guys fumbling around with each other in a foxhole. None of that's gonna help you."

Still looking at the ceiling, Jack said, "And you're offering to show me how it's done. With someone else."

"Of course," the guy said. "That's simple, by the standards of what we do here."

Jack rolled off the bed and made a gesture that said, _Go for it._

The guy picked up the house phone, spoke quietly into it. A couple of minutes later, another guy let himself in with a house key. Jack headed for the chair. The second guy -- this one wasn't ex-military, but he was just as built -- stripped down, and the ex-Marine kneed his way onto the bed and said to Jack, "I don't know how much control you have, but if you don't want to wait for laundry service, you should open your pants and get a towel."

Jack had left his gear in the truck; hadn't intended to stay very long. He went to get a towel. When he came back into the room, the two guys were making out on the bed. He unzipped and sat down, and they went ahead with the demonstration. They switched off on the running commentary. A blow job with a lot of attention to the testicles, a rim job and thorough tongue-fucking, a hand job with slow, lubed finger-fucking, and then penetration, in about six different positions. Neither of the men came. Jack had long since squeezed off all circulation at the base of his cock; the towel was sticky with precome.

"You sure you don't want some of this?" the ex-Marine said, balls-deep in the other guy, rocking. "Slide a couple of fingers in? Maybe your cock? Lube and condoms are in the drawer. Gloves if that's an issue."

"I'll pass," Jack said. The guy said, "Gonna finish up then, if that's OK." Jack said sure. He was surprised when they broke apart, without any verbal, and the Marine got on the bottom, on his back. The other guy straddled him, sinking down on his cock, then kept his butt raised up enough that the Marine could thrust up into him. Their hands moved over each other. Their gazes locked. Now and then the guy on top leaned down into soft, wet kisses, murmuring words Jack couldn't make out and wasn't supposed to.

_That_ shocked him. This wasn't acting. Maybe the Marine picked his partner because their kink was to do it while someone watched. Maybe the Marine picked his partner to show Jack something about lovemaking between men, some final unrequested lesson. Or maybe his partner just happened to be the guy on call. Whatever the deal was, for about five minutes it stopped being about Jack, it stopped being about the job; it was only about the two of them.

They came simultaneously, crying out into each other's mouths an indistinguishable blur of what Jack figured was their real names. The guy on top sank down slowly, boneless, bent legs sliding down straight. The ex-Marine put one brawny arm around him. The other hand slid down his body in a long caress, over his flank, over his butt, and gently, idly stroked his asshole. Shivers of aftershock went through the muscled frame on top.

Jack left them like that, went into the bathroom, and came with a wrenching groan all over the gold-fixtured tub. He missed Daniel so much his guts hurt and his chest was tight. He wished he were here. Wished he'd seen it. They could compare notes, laugh about it, marvel at it, like some offworld culture.

He washed up, tucked and buttoned and zipped and buckled, and went out to find the ex-Marine dressed and the other guy gone.

"I'm still at your disposal," the Marine said.

Jack shook his head. "I'm done here. Appreciate the advice."

The guy wished him good luck and left the room. A few minutes later, Jack left for Colorado Springs.

It hadn't helped. Nothing helped. The point was to get over it. Seemed he didn't want to get over it. Didn't want to fuck anyone else. Failed in his quest for aversion therapy. Learned a lot of interesting stuff he'd never get to try out for himself. Probably only made him want it more. Thirty years of conditioning down the toilet.

Nothing he could do. Just gonna have to live with it.

Daniel swung by his house that night unannounced. Said, "I heard you were back," and came right in. Grabbed himself a beer, plopped himself down in front of the game Jack had been watching. It was Friday night, the end of the week's downtime. Monday morning some video journalist was supposed to come in to do a classified profile of SGC operations. Daniel griped about that. Jack griped back. They watched the game. After a while they ordered Thai. Ate it out of the containers. Daniel washed up the utensils while coffee brewed. Then he came in, with his mug, and Jack's, and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" Jack said.

"I need to talk to you." Daniel gestured at Jack's mug. "Drink some of that."

Jack frowned and sat up and put the mug on a coaster, untasted. "What's up?"

Daniel hesitated for a moment between where he'd been sitting on the sofa and the chair across from it. He took the chair, and said, "I cruised some gay clubs this week."

Jack was glad he'd put down the brimming mug.

"I've been having some conflicted feelings about you, and I needed to sort them out. I thought I'd better tell you, in case you were getting a vibe off me that was making you uncomfortable. We've had enough problems. Plus, no matter how careful I was about it, there's always the chance that word will get back to you somehow. I wanted to spare you any embarrassing surprises."

"Gay clubs where?" Jack said, his stomach clenching.

"Not here. Not in-state. Believe it or not, I am capable of some discretion. But it's a small universe, and while I've gotten very good at throwing off surveillance, I'm not infallible."

Jack had no idea what to say. He said, "I have no idea what to say."

"I figured that," Daniel said. "So I prepared your questions for you. If you did know what to say, you'd ask me whether I did anything that could discredit me with the military, and when I told you no, you'd ask me whether I resolved the issue I went out to resolve."

"And the answer to that is?" Jack said, using everything he knew about biofeedback and self-control to keep his voice level.

"The answer is no, but I can live with it and I hope you'll appreciate my candor and refrain from freaking out."

"So you didn't, uh ... "

"Have sex? No. Not intercourse, anyway. I watched a lot of guys do it. I got a lesson in giving somebody else a hand job. He tried to reciprocate and I couldn't go through with it. We went out for coffee. Talked. I had questions. He answered them. There was no other physical contact. About 3 a.m. I went back to my hotel and slept. Alone. Then I drove back."

"OK," Jack said.

"OK," Daniel said. He chugged his coffee. Jack never knew how he managed to drink it that hot. Or that cold. He'd pick up a cup from the night before and drink it down. No discrimination. "I'll get going now, unless you need to rant at me for a while."

"I'm not freaking out, Daniel."

"Actually, you are. It's just a question of whether you prefer to go apeshit or pretend we never had this conversation."

"I did the same thing." Jack stared at his coffee mug, thinking about how there had never been anything stronger than beer in this house, kind of regretting that now.

"Um ... sorry, but: What?"

"Not to clubs. There's a place. Kind of a ... retreat. Guy slipped me a card for it after I came back from Iraq the last time. Exclusive, anonymous, mostly frequented by the military and some high-profile business types, politicians, entertainment industry, whatever. They cater to ... needs."

"Needs," Daniel echoed. "So ... you had needs."

"A need," Jack said. "A very specific need that they couldn't fulfill."

"So you still have this need."

"Yeah. Still do." He looked up, finally, with a kind of anguish. "Could we just maybe watch a movie or something?"

"Um ... " Daniel cast a look at the door. Could have been longing, could have been dread. "Um ... um ... sure, OK. I guess. I don't really want to go, I just ... thought ... " He rubbed the bridge of his nose, up under his glasses. "What do you want to watch?"

"I don't know." Jack looked around, couldn't find the clicker. Looked up. "You have the thing. Just find something."

Daniel dug between his thigh and the chair, found the remote, put it down on the coffee table. "Jack ... "

"You brought it up, Daniel!" Jack burst out. "I came back here all ready to live with it, whatever I had to do to keep from fucking up with you again, and you throw me a screwball like this and then you ... "

"What?" Daniel said, when he didn't finish.

"And then you won't even turn the goddamn TV back on."

Daniel came over and sat beside him on the couch. "This need was for me."

"Yes, Daniel. Goddammit." Jack snatched up the remote and turned on the set. Daniel took the remote out of his hand and muted it.

"And it can't happen because you're military."

_Ya_ think_?_ Jack thought. But he didn't say it, because that wasn't it. He did a lot of things he wasn't supposed to do. So did a lot of other military personnel. He said, "It couldn't happen because you weren't interested."

"I'm interested. So ... "

_So it can't happen because Kinsey would hang us out to dry._ That was an excuse. He had plenty on Kinsey. Kinsey had looked down the barrel of his gun. Knew he'd pull the trigger, if Kinsey pushed too hard in the wrong place. _Because it would put Hammond in a bad spot._ That was an excuse too. He'd worked under Hammond for a long time now. He didn't like the idea, but he knew how far Hammond would stretch to look the other way. _Because it would compromise my command._ Worst excuse of all. He'd been overinvested since the second year. It had never impaired his judgment. "So ... " He watched the screen, blindly, and finally said, "So I don't know. I don't _know_, Daniel."

"OK." Daniel unmuted the set and brought up the onscreen viewing guide. Jack would have just cast around to see what was on; Daniel went to the index. "How about this. Starts in two minutes. It's on a movie channel, no commercials. Or you want commercials?"

Jack managed to focus on the title Daniel had highlighted. "Fine. That's fine. Click that." He drank some coffee. He was surprised that his hands weren't shaking, that it was no problem to pick up the mug. He drank some more coffee to avoid sitting back. Daniel had slouched into his customary position. They'd spent more evenings like this than Jack could remember.

He moved his coaster, put the coffee mug on it, lay back, and put his feet on the table.

They watched the movie for an hour.

"Do you have any idea what this movie is about?" Jack said.

"No. There's a dog or something."

They watched the movie for another hour. It ended and another movie came on.

"I'm falling asleep," Daniel said. "I should go."

"Stay here," Jack said.

"Where?" Daniel said. It wasn't a question he would ever have asked before. He'd have just curled up on the too-short couch or grabbed bedding from the closet and slept on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"I don't know," Jack said.

"OK," Daniel said. He didn't get up.

The next movie made less sense than the last one had, and it was 1:30 in the morning. Jack turned off the set. "With me. Inside with me."

"OK," Daniel said, and got up.

He went inside while Jack did his prowl-around. Jack heard him brushing his teeth. Jack got water for both of them, put it out on the nightstand. Daniel was standing at the mirror in his briefs, shaving. Jack didn't have to ask him why. He didn't have to look at the muscular, slim-hipped body. Seen him like that a thousand times. Seen him bareassed a thousand times. He threw on an old pair of pajama bottoms and turned the covers down. Daniel came out and got into the bed, putting his glasses on the nightstand. Jack went in, took a leak, brushed his teeth. Shaved. Left the vanity light on and the door an inch ajar so Daniel could find his way if he woke up with no idea where he was. Got into the bed. Lay on his side, turned toward Daniel, who was on his side looking at him.

Daniel moved closer, and he moved closer, and then they were sinking into each other, limbs twining, as though they'd slept like this all their lives. The shock of bare flesh against his chest and belly eased into a sublime warmth of familiar skin. His body had craved this. Just this. Daniel's body up against his, the whole length of it, fitted to him. A circuit completed.

"Daniel," he breathed, shifting him closer.

Daniel reached past Jack's head to pull his pillow over farther, then sank into it, eyes open, easing his arm under Jack's neck. Their lips were a breath apart, but they didn't meet. Daniel hardened against his hip; he hardened up under it. They stayed like that, just pressing.

"Sleep?" Daniel said.

Jack drank in Daniel's breath, mint and coffee and Oktoberfest, his eyes sliding closed. "Yeah. For now. That OK?"

"Yeah," Daniel said. He was shaking. Jack pulled him even closer; after a little while, the shakes eased off, and his heartbeat slowed from panicked to resting. Jack felt the muscles relax, group by group. He felt the moment when Daniel fell asleep.

A weight of tension drained away. The aching rift inside him eased closed. Daniel softened in his sleep but the weight of him felt just as good against Jack's groin, a tingling sweetness of arousal he didn't have to do anything about. Daniel was in arm's reach. Daniel was inside arm's reach. He could feel him breathe, against his chest, against his mouth. He could feel his heart beat. He was alive, and he was _here_. Everything was all right. He went to sleep.

He woke twice during the night. Once he was on his back, and Daniel was sprawled across him. He thought, _Christ, this is heaven,_ and fell back to sleep. The second time was when Daniel got up to take a leak; for a split second, when he came out, Jack thought he'd pad out of the room and wrap up in an afghan on the couch. Then Daniel was back in, skin deliciously cold, and he was spooning up behind him, and it was the most natural thing in the world and he had no idea why he'd thought what he'd thought. He didn't even have an afghan. That was Daniel's place.

The next time he woke up, the sky was rose and pearl through the angled blinds. They were face-to-face again. His hard dick had worked out of the old pajamas and lay on the inside of Daniel's thigh.

He stayed very still. Daniel's erection touched his abs, straining through cotton, but it didn't mean anything; Daniel's morning boners were legendary. He knew he should turn over, but he thought, _Just another second. He's asleep. He'll probably bolt as soon as he wakes up. Just one more second._

Daniel's eyes opened. He blinked to find Jack right in his face, then paled. Jack was staring. He tried to soften his features. He tried to say, "Hey," but his throat wouldn't cooperate. He cleared it, then said, "Sleep all right?"

Daniel didn't answer. His eyes, sleepy and beautiful, searched Jack's face. Jack started to say something else, but Daniel's lips silenced him. Satin. Chapped satin. As full as they looked. They felt like Daniel. All of him felt like Daniel.

The bed was suddenly very hot. Jack made a choked, helpless sound, more breath than voice. Daniel turned his mouth away right in the middle of starting to give him tongue. Jack's breath drew in sharply. Daniel gasped, "Sorry."

"It's all right, Daniel," Jack said, very low.

"Is it?" Daniel said. His face was still turned away. His tone tried to be cold, unconvinced, but just came out bleak. In it were all the reasons not to. All the hopeless, crappy reasons. "If you move, at all, I'm going to come."

"It's all right," Jack said again. He pushed his face into the side of Daniel's.

His body followed. Daniel's met his, tightening around him, leg hooking his. Hands on his bare back. The hard package tight inside his briefs sent tremors through Jack's belly where it jammed in. Daniel's head went up and his pulse came under Jack's lips.

Jack opened his mouth, pressed his tongue against the throbbing artery. Daniel shuddered, and came, hands fisting over Jack's kidneys. Jack shot against Daniel's soft inner thigh, hand curved around Daniel's butt, cupping clenched glutes, harsh hot damp breaths on Daniel's neck. A pulsing warmth spread between them. Daniel said, "Oh, god," in a tight, trembling voice, and then shuddered again and went limp.

Jack's bones and muscles were melting. They would flow into Daniel's, like molten metal, and fuse into some new element as they cooled. The whole periodic table would have to be revised. Science would be turned on its head. He dug his arm farther underneath before that happened, gathered Daniel up close, long leg around his legs, no space between them. He made a low sound into Daniel's neck, burying his face in warm flesh, inhaling sweat and musk. Daniel's hand stroked up to his ribs, then draped loosely. His heartbeat took a long time to slow.

After a minute, it got chilly. Daniel pulled the covers up over Jack's shoulder. His body said _I should go_, but he pulled the covers up and didn't speak.

The warmth got sleepy. Jack got sleepy. Daniel rubbed his shoulder through the covers. It was like a reassuring pat, a little distant. Jack wanted to sleep. Daniel wouldn't. His body had a deadweight heaviness. Jack could feel the withdrawal in it. He could feel Daniel's departure coiling in its bones.

Jack detached himself a little, moved up level with Daniel's face. Daniel turned onto his back. The thumb at the end of the arm that stayed under Jack rubbed lightly, absently. He didn't pull away, except he did. Jack laid a hand on his chest. Too sticky to rub. He squeezed a little. Daniel's eyes closed, part pleasure and part pain. He wanted this, he wanted contact, affection; except he didn't.

Go too long without, and you forgot how to accept it. A starvation-shrunken stomach couldn't take solid food. Push a dog off your lap enough times, it wouldn't come up when you wanted to cuddle it.

_I made him like this_, Jack thought.

Oma sent Daniel back with all his scars.

"I love you, Daniel," he said quietly.

"I know." Daniel smiled a little. "Back atcha, Jack."

"Stick around today."

"I have stuff to do."

"OK." Jack winced a little, then said, "Tonight too?"

"I don't think we should do this again."

Jack didn't answer.

"I mean, maybe that was enough. I mean, now we know."

Jack tried to burn the feeling of Daniel's flesh into his hand, tried to soak him into his pores, take the scent of him deep into his lungs, fill his sinuses with it, shoring himself against the moment of loss. Daniel was here, in his bed, almost naked, shorts sticky with semen, chest sticky with sweat, hair a just-got-laid tousle, palm under Jack's side, fingers on Jack's back. In a minute, he wouldn't be. Jack tried to burn this moment into memory, make a virtual construct of it, something vivid and powerful enough to hold him against all the empty hours to come, the empty days, the empty years. "Now we know what?" he asked, just to keep him talking, stave off the inevitable for one more breath.

"What we have to live without," Daniel said, and sat up in a breathtaking contraction of abs, chest pushing Jack's hand aside, hand pulling out from under him, and rolled out of the bed.

Jack watched him gather his clothes and go into the bathroom. Listened to the shower run. Daniel came out dressed without asking to borrow anything. Knowing he was bare inside his jeans made Jack's throat go dry. He pushed himself sitting, drew a knee up, draped his arm over it. Daniel didn't look at him as he came over to get his glasses from the nightstand, flip them open one-handed, put them on. His balled-up briefs were in his other hand. "Throw those in the hamper," Jack said.

"It's OK," Daniel said. He took his water glass and headed out into the hall. From the kitchen, Jack heard the clink of the glass placed in the sink, the soft bang as the undersink cabinet pulled closed against Daniel's first tug, the crinkle of a plastic grocery bag.

"At least make coffee," Jack called, pushing himself up in the general direction of the shower.

Daniel didn't answer, but in the shower Jack felt the subtle change in water pressure as Daniel filled the pot. He showered fast, toweled off fast, tugged on socks and sweats. Daniel was rinsing the coffee mugs when he came out. It felt as though they'd come full circle, beverage to beverage. If Daniel stayed through lunch, they could recapitulate the whole evening in reverse -- Thai leftovers, then beer -- walking backward step by step until what happened was erased, until what happened had never happened at all.

"This happened, Daniel," he said, leaning hipshot against the sink as Daniel poured the coffee.

"I'm not saying it didn't," Daniel replied, setting Jack's mug down near him on the sinktop, drinking off half of his own, black and too hot. "I'm not ... I'm not sorry it did. I'm just saying it can't anymore." He glanced up, sidelong, as far as Jack's chest. His gaze caught, and he looked away, lips twitching.

Jack looked down at himself. Beat old sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off. Faded letters he could barely make out: USAF. "Don't make a metaphor out of everything," he snapped.

Daniel finished his coffee in three searing gulps, let out a soft hiss. Put the mug in the sink. Ran water into it. Turned to face Jack. "I don't want to go," he said. "But I'm going to go now. I won't come back tonight. I'm seeing some friends from UCCS later on. There's nothing romantic with any of them. I don't want anyone else. Just so you know." He took a step back before Jack's hand could rise. "Good-bye, Jack."

Jack turned, driving his tailbone back into the sinkfront, staring hard out the window; his fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the counter. He heard the swish of the weighted plastic bag Daniel snagged on his way through the dining room. The jingle of keys. The locks turn in his door. Front door and car door open and close. The engine of Daniel's car turn over. He listened to it pull away, the little thump the transmission made when it engaged, the creak of the differential Daniel should have checked out and never did.

_I could have fixed that for him today_. Just two guys, on a Saturday, working on a car.

He listened until the stroke of the four-cylinder faded as it took the turn onto the main road at the end of the development. Then he stuffed some granola bars into his pockets, filled a snap-on water bottle, and went out and got his bike.

He went way up into the foothills, a long workout in demanding terrain, somewhere close to thirty miles by the time he got back. He showered again and grilled some chicken.

The phone rang. A few guys from Peterson, couple he knew from the old days, poker game, was he in. He said yeah. Spent the evening drinking beer, smoking cigars, breaking even because he wasn't paying full attention to his cards.

A couple of them went out to a strip joint after. He let them drag him along. Watched the women without interest. Saw a couple of SFs he knew from the mountain, nodded then ignored them. Declined a lot of persistent offers of lap dances, finally gave one girl a twenty just to leave him the fuck alone. Finished his beer, slapped the guys on the shoulder, got out of there. Drove slowly to the lake that wasn't his lake, parked, and sat watching the moon's reflection move over the water for a couple of hours till the alcohol wore off. Drove home.

The bed still smelled like Daniel.

He shoved his face into that smell and jerked himself into it, using every trick he knew to bring himself off. He couldn't come. He softened in his own hand. He rolled onto his face in the place where Daniel had slept.

When he woke up, he felt like shit, and the house was still empty. A little hopeful place in the back of his head sealed itself shut.

He got up, chewed some aspirin, dragged on his sweats, stuck his head under a cold blast of shower water, got himself a bowl of cereal and sat down to flip between cartoons and the Sunday-morning political commentary shows. Eventually it was lunchtime. He made a sandwich. Did some halfhearted yardwork with _Rigoletto_ on the boom box. Drank beer and ate chips and watched football for the rest of the day. He was getting killed in the pool. Daniel was making out like a bandit. He'd ragged Daniel mercilessly for his picks, but Daniel kept beating the spread. His hand twitched toward the phone. He pulled it back. Felt so sure the phone would ring, just at that moment, that he almost jumped, as though it had. But it didn't. He put some frozen steak fries into the oven and grilled a shell, made himself eat it. Watched Chris Berman's wrap-up show. _He ... could ... go ... all ... the ... way._ Watched the late game into the third quarter. Went to bed.

It didn't smell so much like Daniel anymore.

He slept badly. Got up two hours early, cranky and disgruntled. Worked out hard in the basement, showered, made a real breakfast. Still cranky. Drove to the mountain. Saw the documentary team's van in the lot. Fuck. Forgot about that.

It was not going to be a good week.

He hardly saw Daniel. He spent most of his time avoiding the documentary team, the little smartass overeager bastard with the X-ray eyes. Their next mission wasn't scheduled for a few days. He had paperwork to catch up on, Teal'c was lecturing recruits on Jaffa tactics, Carter was tinkering with doodads, Daniel was analyzing stuff other teams had brought back and torturing the documentary guy. Kinsey picked the wrong damn day to try to make a show out of him in the messroom. Then SG-13's recon went to hell, and he was under fire again, vest stuffed with that new ceramic Lee's guys had engineered, couldn't move right in the damn stuff, and he caught a staff blast full front and when he woke up they told him that Fraiser hadn't made it, and all he could feel was a deep, burning rage. _You don't kill the fucking medics._

He cooled a little when he saw Carter; as far as he knew, Fraiser had been her closest friend, more like a sister if he read it right through the overlay of military conduct, they'd practically raised Cassie together, they were family. She was shaken. Thought she'd made an error in the field, diving after him instead of covering her position; thought she might be to blame for the Jaffa who got through and nailed the doc. For all he knew until he reviewed the reports, she was right. But she thought she'd seen him go down for good. He gave her the hug.

He couldn't find Daniel. There was a dispute over a videotape; he let Hammond handle it, he didn't get involved. He didn't see Daniel until the memorial in the gateroom, and then he was stone-faced, mortared tight behind the walls he put up when he got hit by tragedy he couldn't stand, bricked into his private hell. When it was over, Jack crossed to him. Put a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed hard enough to hurt. Daniel's face didn't change. There might have been gratitude in the brief sidelong slide of eyes, or not. Daniel went back to work. So did Carter. That was what they did. Peas in their little solitary pods.

The funeral was two days later. Outside of the entire medical department, only a handful of SGC staff attended, and of those only his team and Hammond went to the interment. Cassie stuck close to Carter. Daniel seemed to know Fraiser's family pretty well, stood with the mother and the sisters; Jack hadn't known that Fraiser's father had been a Green Beret, KIA in Nam. Jack stood with Teal'c and Hammond in a sea of strangers, all the people who'd known and cared for Janet Fraiser in her civilian life.

He didn't go back to the house afterward. At the edge of the winding cemetery road, he held Cassie for a long time; held her tight, face buried in her hair, until she let go and groped for Carter. Stepped back. Watched Carter and Shanahan come in around her, watched Cassie lean against him.

The family closed ranks. Fraiser's steel-magnolia sisters. Fraiser's mother, a petite, fragile-looking Southern belle with an iron jaw and that look he'd seen in the eyes of every career-military widow, every soldier's mother ... and his wife. As he recognized that, their gazes locked. He hadn't been Fraiser's commanding officer, but the mother looked at him for a long time, a lot longer than she'd looked at Hammond. He swore he could feel his soul delved. She nodded to him. He nodded back, touched the brim of his hat in a near-salute, backed up two steps, and turned for his truck.

Nobody should outlive their children. Nobody.

He didn't go back to the mountain. There were no weekends in Cheyenne, no holidays, no days off, no days of mourning. The Goa'uld didn't go on stand-down for the loss of a valued human soul. But there was nothing for him to do there except paperwork. Technically he was on medical leave.

He went home and packed for the cabin, shedding his uniform piece by piece between adding flannels and fleeces to the duffel. The drive would suck without pain meds, but he didn't think it would do him any damage; truck had pretty good suspension. It was sunset now. He could be halfway there by morning, grab a nap in a motel somewhere, finish the drive tomorrow night. He liked the road at night. Just him and the semis on the interstates, the passing lights. Sometimes it could be nearly as quiet as flying.

The key in the front-door lock didn't surprise him, but for some reason Daniel's steps in the hallway did.

He came in tugging out of his tie, unbuttoning his dress shirt one-handed. He slung Jack's duffel from the bed to the floor, then shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair where Jack's hung neatly, shoulders squared. Then his hands were around Jack's head, his mouth was probing Jack's open, his tongue was sliding over Jack's tongue.

It was a scorching, dominating kiss, easing into wet and erotic and demanding. After the first shocked stillness, Jack's hands moved lightly to Daniel's waist. He kissed back, hard, working Daniel's mouth, and then yielded again, let Daniel take what he needed. Daniel's hands moved down to Jack's belt as he stepped out of his loafers.

"Hey, easy there, cowboy," Jack said, between Daniel's fierce, nipping kisses. "Slow down."

"I want you to fuck me," Daniel said against his mouth, then stepped back to shoulder out of his shirt. "How slow do I have to go for that to happen?"

All the blood in Jack's body went into his groin, bringing his already filling cock stiffly erect. He winced, opening his own pants to ease it, and Daniel moved to the wall switch, flipped off the overhead, and stepped out of his slacks, puddling them on the seat of the chair, dull clink of keys and spare change and belt buckle.

"Slower than this," Jack said, watching him warily. He sat down on the bed to untie his shoes. Daniel got into it from the foot, stripping off socks, undershirt, briefs. Jack caught a glimpse of him in the mirror and looked away as if he'd been burned. The room was all smoky orange light and shadows, like a furnace.

Daniel reached over into Jack's nightstand drawer and rummaged. "Do I need you to wear a condom?"

"Do I need to wear one?" Jack shot back.

"No," Daniel said, coming back around with the lube in his hand. "I had myself re-checked a few days ago."

Jack had gotten his shoes and socks off and his shirt was already open, tie long gone, but he hesitated, torn in about eight different directions.

He knew what Daniel needed and he knew why. He liked rough sex. He wouldn't have minded getting around to rough sex with Daniel, after a while, maybe. But he hadn't wanted to start out that way, and what he'd wanted he'd boxed up tight and buried as deep as it would go when Daniel walked out. The prospect of Daniel, as big and as strong as he was, taking control of him was so hot it made his chest tight, the cherished and very private fantasy of the alpha-male commander; but he was beat, his body wasn't up for this, he was still on the DL. And Anal Sex 101 notwithstanding, he didn't trust himself to do it anything but slow. The kind of excruciating slow that would torture Daniel right now. The kind of slow that should be sweet, a long erotic buildup, not wasted on a desperate fight to reassert life against death.

He got up, pushed out of his shirt, stepped out of his pants, then sat down on the bed again, his back to Daniel, in his shorts and undershirt. "Daniel," he said, desolate. "I can't give you what you need right now."

The light was dying in the room. Daniel kneed up behind him, tugged up on his undershirt. He lifted his arms, let Daniel strip it off him. No problem there; would have been a bitch to get off himself. Then Daniel's arms came around him from behind. Hands gentle on the front of him, where the bruising was. He felt the beautiful curved cock he'd glimpsed in the mirror delve up his spine, and he thought of Fraiser's mother's eyes. Daniel's chin came down on his shoulder; Daniel's face pressed into his neck, behind his ear, up into his hair. He felt a dampness he knew was tears. Daniel's left hand had moved down and out onto his thigh. He slid his over it, squeezing hard.

"I can't live without you," Daniel said. "It's not life."

Jack turned his head, pressed his temple against Daniel's brow.

Daniel's right hand ghosted over his bruised chest and then went down to grip his other thigh. "Every day could be that day." His mouth twisted down into the curve where Jack's neck met his shoulder to deliver something between a kiss and a suck. Jack's head lolled back, baring his throat. He groaned low and tight as Daniel sucked and lightly bit his way up to his ear, then nuzzled into the side of his face. "I want you so much I can't _see_."

"Do me, Daniel," Jack said. "I can lie on my side, just not on my face. Or doggy style. I could probably handle that."

He felt Daniel's body respond; he felt the flush of skin, the twitch of cock against his back. But Daniel pushed away, with a low sound. "Just lie down," he said.

Jack rolled back onto the bed, his lower abs and his elbow taking most of the strain. "Get those off me," he said, lifting his hips a little. Daniel pulled the elastic out to clear his erection and then pulled the shorts down over his knees. He kicked them the rest of the way off as Daniel came up beside him.

He was surprised when Daniel kissed him again instead of going straight for the lube. He was more surprised that it was a sweet, slow kiss, wet and hot, that showed no signs of getting rougher. His desire for Daniel had lived in his flesh, in his cells; he hadn't fantasized about this. When his mind touched the idea of making love to Daniel, it was brief and warm and fleeting and undetailed, and it never included kissing. Not even after he'd seen those two guys do it. Especially not after he'd felt Daniel's lips against his, felt the undelivered promise of that sweet, clever tongue. What Daniel had done when he walked in here was aggression, challenge. Nothing like this.

Daniel lost himself in Jack's mouth, as if this was all he ever wanted to do for the rest of time. Jack tasted salt, an insinuation of tears. It didn't change the gentle probing, the slowly shifting caress of tongue. It swirled into the spit and the dampness of breath, just another taste among all the different tastes that were Daniel.

A tingling, throbbing heat worked its way down through his body, the softest and hottest arousal he'd ever felt. He moaned into Daniel's mouth, an inadvertent sound, just as it drew away, and then gasped protest.

Daniel didn't answer in words. He seemed to be done with words. He moved his mouth down Jack's throat and along his collarbone, wet and tongueful, tasting him; he feathered his lips over a nipple, then the tip of his tongue; all that passed over the deep splash of bruising was his breath. Jack closed his eyes when the hot, damp breath flowed over his cock. His mind was in a whiteout of disbelief. Tender, knowing fingers touched the base of it, lifted it. Then Daniel's tongue swirled over the head, and his wet lips closed around it, and Jack's consciousness dissolved.

He'd never felt anyone say "I love you" by sucking his cock. It would never have occurred to him that Daniel might use his mouth to say it that way instead of with words. He would never have imagined Daniel _loving_ this. Craving it, savoring it. Taking such intense pleasure in it that his hand was trembling and he was moaning in little breathy puffs through his nose.

Daniel's pleasure sent his off the scale. He swelled unbearably into the soft wet slippery heat, and when Daniel's fingertips brushed his balls he came so hard he thought it was going to jar them off the bed, that the next thing he'd feel would be the impact of floor and then his own _oh crap_ going through his mind as he concussed again. The sounds he'd been hearing, long ragged pleading warnings rising into a long, loud, broken _aaaaaaaahh_, were his own voice. Daniel's forearms across his hips and his thighs, weighted with all the density and muscle of his upper body, were the only thing that had kept him from bucking himself into serious injury. The knowledge that Daniel had held him down, the sensation of those long hard bones forcing his body flat, sent a shudder of aftershock through him. Daniel's mouth was still on him, taking it all, swallowing it, savoring it. Sucking him until there was nothing left but limp wonder.

He lifted a blind hand to touch Daniel's head, catching armpit instead, stroking that, and inner arm, and ribs, and shoulder blade, because it was what he could reach. He couldn't raise his head.

Daniel's mouth slid off him softly. He came up into the circle of Jack's arm, eased down against his side, the whole warm bare length of him, finally nothing in between, not even a thin wet stretch of cotton. His face settled in against Jack's; Jack caught a whiff of shampoo from his hair, turned his head toward it, breathed deep.

He could stay here forever. Just like this. But he could feel that beautiful curved cock up against his flank, between hipbone and butt. He wanted to feel it up inside him. Feel how Daniel moved it. He was about as relaxed now as he was ever going to be. "Side, or knees?" he said quietly. "You call it, Daniel."

"Sleep," Daniel said. "I gypped you out of it the last time."

Jack gave a soft snort. "No way. You're not done yet."

Daniel thrust against him, just a little, and said, "I could come right where I am. I don't need anything else, Jack."

"You did when you walked in here."

"I was an idiot. I didn't think about the hit you took."

"Naw, you just think I'm indestructible. Come on, let's pretend I am."

"Really, it's OK. I just ... I just needed to feel that you were alive."

"Yeah," Jack said softly, letting his hand fall on Daniel's head. "I hear that." Daniel let out a breath, pushed a little closer. Jack threaded his fingers into the short hair, silky against the rough skin of his hand. "This still OK?"

"It was always OK," Daniel said. "I hated that you stopped doing that."

_I could unstop. I could unstop a lot of things, if you'd stick around._ He didn't push it. He didn't know how long Daniel planned to stay, and he didn't want to even start thinking about being worried about when he'd bolt again. "So you could come like that, huh?"

Daniel smiled. Jack tried to hold the imprint of it in his skin. "I'm sure you'd really enjoy me humping your hip."

_As a matter of fact_ ... "Throw your leg over," he said, flattening his legs where they'd drawn up a couple of degrees. "Give it a whirl."

Daniel's smile widened. "It's really OK, Jack. I'm happy like this. I don't have to ... Oh." Jack had shifted a little, putting some pressure on the erection. He hooked his left leg through Daniel's and got a little leverage and rubbed. "Oh ... OK ... uh ... Oh." Jack had his wrist now, where it crossed his abdomen well under the bruised area, and was managing to work the fleshy muscled part of his haunch against that hardness. "Um, this could be kind of ... oh, god ... kind of messy ... "

"Daniel, I'd like nothing better than to feel you shoot all over me, and my bed, and anything else you can hit."

Daniel moaned into his neck. His hand tightened on Jack's far hip, his legs flexed, and he rubbed himself into flesh and down into muscle. His skin flushed hot, then prickled. Suddenly his wrist rotated out of Jack's grip and closed around Jack's forearm. "Jack -- Jack -- turn -- put your -- hand ... " On _hand_ it sounded like he'd lost the ability to breathe. Jack's body went hot all over. He turned, sliding his hand between them, flat behind Daniel's cock. Closing on it. "Oh, god," Daniel choked. "Yes."

The feel of it went up Jack's arm like a shot of something numbing. At the same time every nerve ending in his hand lit up. He'd touched that other guy's cock, and it felt OK, it felt pretty good, but this ... this ... There was some kind of electrochemical reaction between his skin and Daniel's. It was velvet over iron, it was the fleshiest flesh he'd ever felt, ripe and full and tight. He squeezed and pulled, let his hand do what it knew how to do. No instructions required.

Daniel groped his shoulder. He cradled Daniel's neck in the crook of his elbow, watched his face in the dark, felt it twist against his arm. "Oh god yes ... oh god Jack ... " He closed his fist and worked against Daniel's thrusts. He thought about the hands he'd had on his own cock the last few days, the hands he hadn't wanted. He thought about Daniel saying _he tried to reciprocate but I couldn't go through with it_ and felt the hungry way Daniel's hips pushed into his palm. He listened to Daniel moan "oh god, oh god" and thought he should rag him later for toppling false gods by day and having religious orgasms by night. He firmed his grip and thought _come, come_ and not how his hand was saying _Mine. Mine._

When he got close, Daniel went still. Jack sped up, made it urgent. Daniel gulped a breath as if he was about to go under water, or about to yell.

"That's it," Jack whispered. "That's it ... "

Daniel curled over, suddenly, his face driving down into Jack's arm, and pulsed in Jack's hand. He didn't yell. He clawed Jack's shoulder; he thrust in double time, fucking Jack's hand through his own come.

Jack's whole body tried to come with him.

He pushed his smile against Daniel's mouth. The cock in his hand was still dribbling over his knuckles. He squeezed it gently, coaxing until it was spent, until Daniel's mouth went lax and moaning under his and he could melt into that sweetness, drink it. He let go and gathered him in close, moving his lips up to the cool, damp brow as Daniel sagged. Jack was still smiling. He was an amazement of adoration. "Daniel," he laughed, moving his nose through the spiky ruff of bangs. "_Daniel_."

A thrill of gooseflesh went all up and down Daniel's body for no reason he could figure. Daniel murmured something soft into the hollow of his elbow. Jack shifted him closer, ignoring the ache in his chest, and said, "Just don't go, OK? Not again. Not this time."

"Not going," Daniel said, and raised his head a little bit. His nose brushed Jack's. They kissed almost without meaning to. It was _so weird_ to kiss Daniel on the mouth. "But this stuff's gonna dry," Daniel said, against his lips. "It's all over your chest. Should clean up. It'll hurt otherwise."

"Not moving."

"I'll do it."

"Hey. Guy who comes gets to lie there and bask."

"That's a good rule. But there's an injury rider. I'm invoking it."

"You don't get to draft any more treaties."

"Only the who-gets-up-to-get-the-washcloth subsections." Daniel pushed off gently and scooched off the bed.

Jack reached over for a wad of Kleenex, gave himself a wincing swipe, then got up while the water ran and turned the bedspread down. When Daniel came back with the warm washcloth and a hand towel, he was digging through the duffel for the pain meds.

"OK," Daniel said. "I see that compliance with Subsection A is going to be an issue."

Jack came up with the bottle and rattled it. "You need an addendum for meds. And creamed bedspreads."

Daniel stepped in behind him and ran the washcloth gently, almost sensually over his belly and up the front of him and over his right hand, then the towel. It felt way too good to hurt. "Lie down and I'll mull over the revision while I get you some water."

Jack got in under the sheet and blanket. If it could just be like this. If it could just go on being like this. If he could just figure out a way.

He thought about Fraiser, who'd known about this for a while and never said a word to him.

He thought about Hammond.

He thought about the way Cassie had leaned back against Shanahan -- about how cops could get killed, too, and boyfriends could be dumped, and Cassie shouldn't give her heart like that, she'd already lost a father and two mothers.

He thought about Fraiser's mother's eyes.

He thought about happiness, and the way Daniel's tears had tasted on his lips.

Doing the impossible was SOP. He'd find a way.

"Here you go," Daniel said, padding in with a glass of water. "If you swallowed those dry, there will be indeterminate but grave consequences."

Jack held out one hand to display the tablets and the other for the glass.

"You realize that without my glasses in the dark I can't see if there are pills in your hand."

Jack tossed them at the back of his throat, drank half the water, and put the glass on the nightstand. "Can you see the bed? Good. Get into it."

Daniel got into the bed -- on Jack's side of it, as it happened, and he decided he liked that -- and pushed his shoulder when he turned toward him. "Other way." Jack turned his back and Daniel pressed up against it, folding himself around him, pulling the covers up over both of them. Now they were both on the side Jack never slept on, both heads on the pillow he'd thought of as Daniel's pillow since the night he'd slept here, even though he hadn't let himself think about that at all.

"Why do I sleep on a side of the bed?" he said. "With the exception of you, I'm the only one who's ever in this bed. Why don't I spread out in the middle of it?"

"Nine years of marriage? Umpteen years in military bunks? Staying close to the nightstand?" When Jack didn't answer, Daniel kissed the back of his neck and said, "You were leaving room for me."

"Yeah," Jack said. Surprised.

It wasn't _What are you doing here?_ now. It was _Where the hell have you been?_

The bed up at the cabin was a single.

He wasn't going up to the cabin tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> [Changing Channels](http://archiveofourown.org/works/24430) makes a nice post-series sequel to this fic.


End file.
